


how to be thankful - an instructional guide

by narcissablaxk



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: 90s LawRusso, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Thanksgiving, food as a love language, lawrusso
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27680116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/narcissablaxk/pseuds/narcissablaxk
Summary: When Johnny finds out that Daniel doesn't celebrate Thanksgiving, he tries to give him a better one.
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 17
Kudos: 133





	how to be thankful - an instructional guide

When he was barely eight years old, Daniel LaRusso celebrated Thanksgiving in a hospital room. He sat on a chair that was somehow too wide and too straight-backed for both children and adults and poked at shapeless, grey-tinted turkey and listened to his father mutter the answers to Jeopardy beside him. He didn’t know any of the answers – he didn’t understand why they couldn’t have just taken his dad home for the day, so he could sit at the head of the table where he belonged. 

He would never get another chance to sit there, to carve the turkey his mother slaved over all day. This would be his last Thanksgiving, colorless and bland, with raisins in the stuffing for some reason and canned ridges on the slice of cranberry sauce. 

All Thanksgivings after that one were empty – once they were in California, his mother was too far from her family for them to fly out to visit for only a couple of days, and by then she was working so often that Thanksgiving became a shadow holiday. Something that Daniel thought about as completely separate from himself, like it only existed in the movies. 

Mr. Miyagi didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving. 

The last Thursday in November passed unmarked, unmentioned. Daniel didn’t mind it – especially now that his mother was in Fresno and he was still in the Valley. She wanted to visit, but she had to work early Friday morning; it was the mantra of all the past Thanksgivings. He wasn’t even sure why she gave him an excuse at all at this point. There was no need. 

He, too, had to work early on Friday morning – Black Friday was, unfortunately, a huge hit in the car business. That also meant the days leading up to the holiday were empty, slow, frustrating hours that Daniel felt didn’t even merit his attention. 

He pushed open the door on Monday afternoon, shoulder holding open the screen while he fumbled with the lock. It was unnecessary – Mr. Miyagi never locked the door, and his wasn’t the only car in the driveway. 

“You don’t celebrate Thanksgiving?” Johnny asked, leaning back on his hands at the table, his legs extended in front of him. He glanced up as Daniel entered while Miyagi took a sip of his tea. “Neither of you?” 

“Mr. Miyagi has never celebrated Thanksgiving,” Daniel hedged, shutting and locking the door behind him, even though Mr. Miyagi would be unlocking it in half an hour to go water plants. 

He slipped his shoes off and set his briefcase down on the chair by the door, Johnny’s eyes on him, silently asking for the second half of the statement Daniel didn’t want to give. 

“Daniel-san not celebrate either,” Miyagi finished for him, standing up to take his teacup to the sink. “Bad memories.” 

“Bad memories?” Johnny repeated. “Like what?” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said firmly, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Mr. Miyagi at the sink. 

He toweled off his hands on the little green towel hanging by the dish rack and considered Johnny, who was still looking in his direction, brow slightly furrowed. He looked flushed, like he’d been out in the garden all day without sunscreen. 

“I just finished helping the old man repot some plants –” he explained to Daniel’s appraising look. 

“Rhododendrons,” Miyagi supplied helpfully. 

Johnny shrugged. “Yeah, those.” He tipped his can of RC Cola back and finished it, his fingers tensing around the can like he wanted to crush it. He got up and carefully put the can in the little recycling bin, pausing by Daniel’s side to press a kiss to the side of his head. “How was work?” 

“A bore,” Daniel replied, Johnny’s lips still in his hair. “Where was your sunscreen?” 

“Not here,” Johnny shrugged, giving the side of his head another definitive kiss before moving away. Daniel rolled his eyes, catching Mr. Miyagi’s smile as he turned away to the front door, unlocking it and stepping out onto the front porch. 

***

“Are you going to tell me about it?” Johnny asked when they were alone, in the guest-house after dinner. Daniel was unbuttoning his work shirt, his eyes focused on the buttons beneath his fingers. Johnny leaned back on the little bed, watching him. “The bad memories?” 

“It’s nothing,” Daniel shrugged, turning away to hang the shirt on the back of the chair. “Really.” 

“Bad memories are never nothing,” Johnny pointed out. “You still hold senior year over me.” 

“You _kicked me_ –”

“Yeah, and _you_ kicked me,” Johnny retorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re only proving my point.” 

“Let it go, John –”

Johnny raised his eyebrows. “Whipping out the stern first name so soon?” he asked. Daniel rolled his eyes and turned away from him to undo his belt. “I’m not trying to force you to tell me –”

“Aren’t you?” Daniel asked, stepping out of his pants and leaving them on the chair with his shirt. He didn’t bother looking back at Johnny, but pulled a pair of shorts out of the little drawers by his feet. “That’s exactly what you’re doing.” 

“You’ve been on edge for days,” Johnny pointed out. “You always feel better after you talk about it –”

“On my own time,” Daniel snapped. “Not when you’re forcing me.” 

“Don’t bite my head off on purpose, LaRusso,” Johnny warned, sitting up on his elbow. “You always do this –”

“What do I do, John?” Daniel asked, pressing his fingers into his temples. “What exactly is it that I do?” 

“You try to piss me off so we can fight about stupid shit,” Johnny said, sitting up completely, elbows on his knees. “It’s not gonna distract me this time.” At Daniel’s stony glance, he tensed his jaw and shrugged. “You don’t wanna talk about it? Fine, but we’re not fighting. Get over here so you can relax.” 

They didn’t fight – after a moment of consideration, Daniel slipped under Johnny’s arm and let him run his fingers through his hair, talking aimlessly about work at Bobby’s dad’s construction firm, where he was currently helping the team renovate some old apartments downtown. Today they spent hours peeling old wallpaper off of walls so they could be repainted. 

He must have dozed off while Johnny was talking, because the next thing he knew, the little lamp next to them was off and Johnny was sliding a pillow underneath his head and taking his arm back. 

“My dad’s last Thanksgiving was in a hospital,” he said, so softly that Johnny had to go still to hear what he said. “Old hospital food and the sound of the machines. Just hasn’t been the same since.”

Johnny didn’t say anything – he just settled into the other pillow and tossed his leg over Daniel’s hip. Daniel dropped his hand to it and squeezed wearily. Johnny sighed and shifted, Daniel sliding closer until they were pressed together, Johnny’s nose in Daniel’s hair. 

“Sleep,” Johnny finally whispered when Daniel shifted again, eyes open in the darkness. “I love you.” 

***

“Let me get this straight –” Jessica stepped away from the pottery wheel and wiped her hands on her apron, already sodden with wet clay and water. “You want to plan a Thanksgiving dinner for your boyfriend, who doesn’t celebrate Thanksgiving.” 

“Not Thanksgiving dinner,” Johnny said, reaching for a clean towel and tossing it over for Jessica to catch. “Just a dinner…that happens to be on Thanksgiving.” 

“So Thanksgiving dinner.” 

“But with his friends, maybe his mom,” Johnny said while Jessica stared up at him, her hair frizzy around her head. “No turkey, no Thanksgiving food. Maybe Italian food, maybe some Japanese food? I don’t know, those are his favorites.” 

She tilted her head, tossing the now soiled towel onto her stool. “I appreciate that you came to me with this, because frankly, the idea of you doing this alone is, well, hilarious, but you’re going to need more help.” 

Johnny shifted his weight to his other foot. “Who?” 

“Mr. Miyagi.” 

***

They went together to see Mr. Miyagi – Johnny loved the old man like family, but Jessica charmed him in a way that no one else did, so he took her along for the ride and support. She was the one who explained what Johnny was trying to do, while Johnny fiddled with a plant by the door, fingers sliding over the waxy leaves again and again while they talked. 

“I make pork dumplings,” Mr. Miyagi said placidly. “And call Daniel-san’s mother.” 

“You think she’ll want to come?” Johnny asked from his spot by the front door – the first he’d spoken since they’d walked in. 

Mr. Miyagi gave him a look that Johnny never knew how to take – like he could read his mind and understand everything he found there. “Never know unless ask.” 

The way he said it was significant – as it always felt when the old man spoke – but Johnny furrowed his brows and mulled over the statement hours later, when he was back at work, his lunch break spent with Jessica and Miyagi, and he could spend time thinking about things while he participated in the muscle memory of yanking sheets of wallpaper down.

He wanted to surprise Daniel with a new Thanksgiving memory – one that would make the other one hurt a little bit less, but he knew Daniel well enough by now. Daniel hated surprises. He hated things being hidden from him even more. 

If he kept planning, there was a very real possibility that this whole thing could blow up in his face. He’d seen enough Lifetime movies with Daniel leaning on his shoulder to know just how bad it could get. 

So he borrowed Mr. Miyagi’s phone to make some calls and made a grocery list for himself and the old man and kept them in his pocket until Daniel came home from work. He was nervous – as nervous as he’d been the first time he took Daniel on a date (it actually started as a fistfight in the parking lot of Golf n Stuff and ended with them sharing fries at a 24-hour diner with a black eye and a cut lip, respectively). He paced the room for fifteen minutes before Mr. Miyagi swatted him on the hip with a feather duster and put him to work. 

Smart old man, using his nervous energy to his benefit. 

But another fifteen minutes passed and his nerves had abated considerably, forgotten in the mundanity of dusting, of wiping down the kitchen counter, of listening to Mr. Miyagi hum something under his breath. 

And then Daniel’s car pulled in outside and the nerves were back. 

“Just be honest,” Mr. Miyagi said when Johnny froze to listen to Daniel’s footsteps. “All will work out.” 

He didn’t even ask how he knew. Mr. Miyagi always knew. 

Daniel looked exhausted coming through the door – so exhausted Johnny almost didn’t say anything. His shoulders were slumped, his hair was mussed in the way it only got when he spent time running his fingers through it. He stumbled taking his shoes off, dumping his briefcase on the chair by the door, sighing heavily when it tumbled off to the floor. 

When Johnny looked back at Mr. Miyagi, the old man had his eyebrows raised, and glanced toward the teapot. 

Johnny abandoned his post and trotted over to the kettle, filling it with water and leaving it on the stove to heat up. By the time he was finished, Daniel had collapsed onto the tatami mat by the table (he always sat near that table), his arms spread wide on the floor. 

“Hungry, Daniel-san?” Mr. Miyagi asked. 

Daniel kept his eyes closed. “No thanks, Mr. Miyagi, I’m fine.” 

Even his voice was tired. Johnny felt for him, in the lines of his back and shoulders, the muscles aching from pulling wallpaper down all day, but he knew what this exhaustion was. It wasn’t just work – it was everything, including the holiday. 

He set a steaming cup of tea on the table in front of Daniel and waited for him to smell it. He hit pay dirt a moment later, when he caught sight of Daniel’s caramel brown eyes peeking over the table toward the cup. 

“Did you make me tea?” he asked, his hands already reaching for it. 

Johnny shrugged. 

He blinked and took a sip of the tea. “Why?” 

Johnny considered blurting it all out now – Mr. Miyagi would make a good buffer if Daniel decided to get upset. But that would be a pussy move, and he was certainly not about to make one of those. 

“Pick up your tea and come home,” he said, tilting his head toward the guest-house. 

***

Johnny took the cup of tea out of his hands the moment they stepped through the doorway, setting it on the little table by the front door where Daniel left his keys and bumped the door shut with his hip. 

He was on Daniel in a second, kissing him softly and thoroughly, fingers working through his shirt buttons while he did it, Daniel pulling away to look at his face. 

“What?” Johnny asked, sliding Daniel’s shirt down his arms. “I’m helping you get out of your work clothes. I’m a good boyfriend.” 

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Okay, okay, continue, then,” he said, laughing when Johnny swooped in for another kiss, the shirt abandoned on the floor. He held onto Johnny’s shoulders while the other man unfastened his belt and left his pants on the floor with his shirt. 

He let Johnny push him over to the bed, where he fell back onto the pillows with a quiet ‘oof.’ 

“You’re being awfully nice,” Daniel pointed out as Johnny pulled one of Daniel’s legs over his shoulders, dropping kisses to the exposed skin of his calf. “Something I need to be worried about?” 

“You’re stressed,” Johnny said between kisses, moving to the other leg. “You don’t deserve to be stressed.” 

Daniel let his head fall back on the pillow, his eyes cast toward the ceiling, oblivious to Johnny’s worried glance back up at him. He could just barely see his eyelashes move as his eyes searched the ceiling, finding nothing but the dim glow of the lamp. Johnny kissed the inside of his knee – the one he injured – and sighed against Daniel’s skin. 

“ _You’re_ stressed,” Daniel parroted his own words back to him. “Tell me.” 

Johnny sat up, careful to let Daniel pull his legs off his shoulders himself, and turned his legs toward the edge of the bed so Daniel could only see his profile. 

“You don’t like surprises,” Johnny said. 

He felt Daniel’s head adjust on the pillow to see him better. “No,” he agreed cautiously. “I don’t.” 

“I thought –” Johnny paused, pursing his lips while he searched for the right words. “I was going to surprise you with something –”

“John –”

“On Thursday.” 

Daniel sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. “Thanksgiving.” 

Johnny turned halfway toward him – Daniel looked almost like a lost child, arms wrapped around his knees, eyes huge in the almost darkness, bottom lip sticking out while he considered the implications of Johnny’s silence. 

“I don’t celebrate –”

“I’m not asking you to –”

“Then you could have chosen _another day_ –”

This was on the edge of raised voices – Johnny turned completely toward him and put his hands on top of Daniel’s, and felt the tension there. He tilted his chin to catch Daniel’s gaze. 

“Just a dinner with food you love – not turkey or anything like that – and your friends,” Johnny said. “No talking about what we’re thankful for, no mention of the holiday at all. Just your favorite pasta and dumplings and pizza and maybe a couple of beers.” 

He could feel some of the sharpness leaking out of Daniel’s knuckles. His eyes were still huge, dark brown and depthless when they weren’t reflecting light and sparkling gold. Johnny sighed, and scooted closer so he could rest his chin on top of Daniel’s knees. 

“Having you, here, like this,” he said quietly, “has made everything that happened senior year suck less. Your forgiveness, your kindness, your love,” he watched Daniel blink and look away before looking back at him. “It made all of that pain hurt less. I’m not trying to take away your memories with your dad. I’m just trying to give you something that makes it hurt a little bit less.” 

He watched a tear fill up Daniel’s eye and pour over and wiped it away with his thumb.

“Are you angry?” he asked, and he felt like such an insecure kid asking, but it mattered, it was important to him – and he was reminded again how much Mr. Miyagi and Daniel had actually improved his life, improved him as a person. 

Daniel shook his head. “I’m not angry, John.” He sighed, eyes looking out to the dark corner of the room. “Who is coming?” 

Johnny thought back to the grocery list in his pocket – to the phone calls Mr. Miyagi made while he was dusting and cleaning his anxiety away. He still didn’t know who could actually make the trip. 

“Can I make that the only part of this whole thing that’s a surprise?” he asked. “Because we have people we asked –”

“We?” Daniel prompted. 

“The old man helped.” 

“Of course he did,” Daniel closed his eyes and chuckled, uncoiling himself to fall back on the pillow. 

“We aren’t sure who can make it yet,” Johnny said. “So…” 

“It’ll be a surprise,” Daniel agreed. “I trust you.” 

Johnny crawled up the length of the bed to settle in beside him, eyes still trained on his face, searching for more traitorous tears that he needed to wipe away. Daniel caught him looking and turned toward him, pillowing his head with his hand. 

“When my dad died, I felt so…guilty,” he said, the word ragged coming from his throat. “I hadn’t spent enough time with him, I hadn’t learned enough from him, I hadn’t done enough to make sure he was comfortable, healthy. My mother was so devastated,” he heaved a sigh that ballooned his chest and let it out in a rush. “She tried to make sure I couldn’t hear her cry but our apartment was small, and it was even smaller in California.” 

Johnny laid his hand gently on the side of Daniel’s neck and waited for him to continue. 

“When she didn’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving, I took it as a personal vendetta I needed to carry on, for her. I didn’t want her to feel guilty for not celebrating, so I just…didn’t celebrate. And it just became habit.” 

Johnny knew Daniel, so well that he knew when he needed humor and when he needed seriousness. He knew those lines so well because he spent a lot of time crossing them and blowing them to hell. 

He pulled Daniel to his chest and said, “Turkey tastes like shit anyway.” 

He knew when he needed to laugh. 

***

Johnny never realized how hectic Thanksgiving Day actually was. He spent the day before at the grocery store with Mr. Miyagi, pushing the cart while the old man shoveled ingredients in with no warning. He listened to Mr. Miyagi rattle off Daniel’s favorite foods, from the pork dumplings he promised to make to puttanesca, which Johnny had never heard of before (why didn’t people just call pastas after the color of the sauce? It solved a lot of problems). Then the old man had to listen to Johnny tell him about the oven pizzas that Daniel secretly ate three times a week after a long day at the dealership and the taro flavored ice cream he only bought at the Asian market half a mile from the supermarket they were in right now. 

Mr. Miyagi had given him a clap on the back for those observations, the gesture as meaningful as all of his philosophical riddles put together. 

Daniel was allowed to watch Mr. Miyagi, Jessica, and Johnny cook on Thursday, but he was not permitted to help, except when it came to folding dumplings, because he took one look at Johnny’s attempt and elbowed him out of the way to do it himself. 

“I promise I won’t do anything else,” Daniel said reassuringly to Johnny’s weak noise of protestation. “Besides, don’t you have to go get dressed?” 

He was right – Johnny was still in the apron Mr. Miyagi had chucked at him when Johnny had crushed a tomato with the wooden spoon and splattered watery red droplets all over his shirt. He rolled his eyes and left, managing to make it to the window near the front door in time to see the taxi pull up. 

It could only be one person. 

He met her at the door – Lucille was just as formidable as he remembered her from the tournament. She still had shoulder pads in her blazer, still had the same glint in her eye Johnny always saw in her son. But her frown immediately dissolved into a smile when he reached his hands out for her bag, and when his hands were full of luggage, she swept him into a hug he couldn’t return. 

“Straight from the airport, I see,” Johnny said. It felt weird, talking to his boyfriend’s mother, who last saw him in person when he gravely injured her son after spending a school year tormenting him. But Daniel talked to her on the phone every week, and that history had all been washed away by gushing recounts of their dates, of Johnny’s apologies and evolution, and now, when she talked to her son on the phone, she asked to speak to Johnny to check in on him. 

“Short notice,” she answered, still hugging him. “I see he finally told you about Thanksgiving.” 

He nodded. “Mr. Miyagi told you about –?”

“That we’re eating real good food instead of the other stuff?” she laughed. “Of course he did.” 

“Ma?” 

He wished he could have presented Lucille like a gift, a surprise with extravagance and poise. But no, Daniel _would_ get up at the sound of her laugh and come jogging into the room with hands held out in front of him because they were dirty. 

“Who else?” she asked, releasing Johnny completely to pull her son into a tight hug that he could only half-heartedly give back. “How’s my handsome boy?” 

“Ma,” he squirmed away from her scrutinizing gaze, his eyes catching Johnny’s over her shoulder. 

Johnny grinned at him and went to put her bags down so he could change. He considered his clothing options – mostly ragged jeans and faded shirts with permanent stains on them from work, and settled on his least-torn up pair of pants and one of Daniel’s shirts, left unbuttoned over a Guns N Roses shirt. 

When he came back, the room had fallen into a new rhythm that he recognized as familiar. The kitchen was full of people – Lucille at the sink, washing her hands to help cook, Mr. Miyagi and Daniel folding dumplings, Jessica stirring a pot of apples on the stove. Everyone was chatting, several conversations going on at once, but no one was left out, no one forgotten. 

It was a _family._

“Johnny, we were just talking about what a great boyfriend you are –” Lucille started. 

“Because you didn’t try to make this a surprise,” Daniel added. 

“As if he could,” Jessica threw in. 

“Did good job,” Mr. Miyagi threw him a wink, his hands still working on the dumpling while he did it. 

“And such a creative idea,” Lucille finished like no one had interrupted her. “I think we should do this every year.” 

“Agreed,” Johnny said, sliding up behind Daniel to drop a kiss to the top of his head. 

Daniel twisted around to get a better look at him. “Is that my shirt?” 

Johnny gave him a wide-eyed blink of innocence. But he couldn’t give him a real excuse, because there was a quiet knock at the door and no one else knew about this dinner, so he had no idea who it could be. 

“I’ll get it,” Daniel said, jumping up from his spot. 

“Who is it?” Johnny asked as Daniel slipped by. Daniel didn’t answer, but gave him a squeeze on the shoulder. “LaRusso?”

He waited a few seconds and then followed Daniel to the front door, curiosity too strong to ignore. Daniel was just shutting the door behind the newcomer, his voice hushed and excited. 

“No, no, I didn’t tell him, it’s a surprise –”

“I hope it’s a good one –”

The sound of his mother’s voice almost knocked Johnny off his feet. But no, she was there, standing in the doorway next to Daniel, in a purple chiffon shirt and light wash jeans, her hair long and blonde and beautiful. Daniel caught sight of him first and gave Johnny a sheepish grin. 

“You surprised me, and I surprised you,” he said. 

Laura gave her son a smile and let her bag fall off her shoulder. “Hey, honey,” she said. “Daniel told me you were –”

She didn’t get to finish. Johnny strode forward, two huge steps, and wrapped her in a hug. He’d forgotten how she smelled, powdery and like a garden somehow, how comforting it was to be near her. He hadn’t seen her since he moved out of Sid’s house, swearing up and down that he wouldn’t be back. 

He hadn’t been back, but in refusing to return, he’d lost time with his mother. How petty that all seemed now, when she was here, fragile and thin under his hands, laughing lightly against him, patting his hair down. 

“Come in,” he said. “I’ll introduce you to everyone.” 

***

He didn’t manage to get Daniel alone again until the night was almost over, when he was two beers in and Daniel was smiling over the table at him with his eyes. The whole evening was a blur of good food and jokes delivered by their mothers, embarrassing and ridiculous and nostalgic. The whole evening was gilded in gold, sparkling at the edges like it was already a memory. 

When Daniel got up to go to the kitchen for cups of coffee, Johnny got to his feet and followed. 

He cornered him against the counter with his arms and kissed the back of his neck while he poured. 

“How did you manage to become so kind?” he asked, eyes watching the coffee pour. 

“Accident,” Daniel shrugged. “And a good, over-bearing mother.” 

Johnny laughed, wrapping his arms around Daniel’s waist. “I know we aren’t supposed to say what we’re thankful for –”

Daniel set down the coffee pot and turned to him, arms resting on Johnny’s shoulders. It was those brown eyes that robbed Johnny of his voice. They were so full – of so many things Johnny couldn’t hope to name them – and the longer Johnny didn’t speak, the more they filled with amusement. 

He was thankful for Daniel, thankful for the people in the other room, thankful for everything that he thought he could never have that he somehow managed to obtain without really realizing it. 

But he couldn’t make himself say the words. 

“I know,” Daniel said, kissing him lightly on the lips before turning away to pour more coffee. “Me too.”


End file.
